


One More Week Before the Throne

by cosmic_medusa



Series: Castles in the Air [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bromance, Canon Divergence - Thor (2011), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Pre-Thor (2011), Sharing a Bed, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-19 11:58:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_medusa/pseuds/cosmic_medusa
Summary: A week before Thor's coronation, his nerves may just be getting the best of him. Fortunately, company is never hard to find when your brother rarely sleeps. Prequel toCastles in the Air





	One More Week Before the Throne

Thor was absolutely going to drift off to a peaceful sleep at any moment.

He most certainly would _not_ spend another night rolling about, popping in and out of half-dreams, and then dumping himself on the foot of his brother’s bed sometime before dawn. Loki hadn’t complained, but he had taken to using him as a foot rest, and just this morning, a makeshift desk.

“Well you might as well be useful,” Loki had smirked when Thor had blinked up at him. He had been far from amused when Thor had sent his books, notes, and pens scattering off his back when he deliberately rolled over.

Insomnia was generally his brother’s affliction, not his. It had irritated Thor endlessly that Loki refused sleeping draughts and sometimes spent days at a time with dark circles under his eyes, shuffling about their common area until dawn.

But Thor had tried two such draughts himself in the past week, and they left him between the realms of waking and sleep and made him all the foggier during the day. Tonight he’d tried to drink enough wine to pass out, but he found it just left him listless and now, as his sobriety slowly restored, feeling dehydrated and all the more awake.

He rolled over and furiously punched at the pillows, debating calling Mjölnir to his hand and smashing the bed to pieces. Destroying things had always relieved his anxiety. He half wished some raiding party would invade so he could spend the night raging without appearing like a madman.

He started when his door opened and Loki entered, wearing his green sleeping clothes and robe. All the long years they’d co-habited, and not once had Thor ever seen his brother sleep with so much as his shirt off, no matter how unforgiving the season. He himself was happy to fall into bed in as close to nothing as possible, but Loki remained the picture of formality even in sleep.

“I’ve brought you some lavender water,” the younger Prince said. He was carrying several books and his usual journal and pens in one hand and a glass with a pale purple shimmer in the other.

“If it’s another sleeping draught, discard it.”

“It’s not.”

“Why is it shining?”

“Because I blessed it. It should cure the headache you’re undoubtedly nursing, and the lavender properties are intensified to promote relaxation.”

“So you’re blessing things now? You’re not going to chant, are you?”

“Chanting is too merry for my tastes.”

Thor smiled and sat up, taking the glass. The night had chill to it, and he was glad he’d kept his own nightclothes on. “Thank you.”

“You never did deserve me,” Loki grinned, then set down his books and took a seat on the far side of the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “I figured I’d spare you the journey to my chambers this once.”

Thor felt his face heat up. “I dislike the draft in this room.”

“We shall begin the night here. If you are uncomfortable, we will relocate,” Loki said easily, casting a warm look at his brother before he flipped open his journal and took up his pen. Thor took his time drinking his water, relieved when a warmth spread throughout his limbs and some of the tension did in fact ease in his back and shoulders.

Thor set the glass aside and settled back down, turning his face his brother across the broad expanse of the bed. Loki perched on the opposite side, book and pens in hand, was welcomingly familiar, and helped ease him further. “What are you working on?”

“A toast for your coronation banquet. Father insists.”

Thor winced inwardly. Loki was an excellent speaker—he hadn’t earned the nickname ‘Silvertongue’ by being silent—but he’d disliked speaking to large gatherings since they were children. “Would you like my thoughts on how wonderful I am?” he teased. Loki glared, but his lips twitched into a fond smile.

“I had thought to praise your capacity for forgiveness and mercy by cataloging some of the times you’ve pardoned me,” he said seriously. “Let’s see—the time I glamoured away your hair—”

“ _That_ nearly earned you a blow from Mjölnir—”

“The time I turned you in to a frog—”

“I nearly pulled your eye out with my fearsome tongue.”

“The time I turned myself into a snake and pricked you with my dagger—”

“You _stabbed_ me!”

“You never stole my journal again.”

“ _You stabbed me_!”

“Oh hush, you were on your feet within the hour. The time I glamoured into a ghost and appeared to you and Fandral in the old tower—”

“I did _not_ wet upon myself, we had been playing near the stream, if you recall—”

“The time I transformed myself into Volstagg and proclaimed my love for you—”

“That was nearly incest!”

“The time I delivered a message to you as one of Father’s ravens ordering you to remove your armor and crawl to the foot of the throne—"

“That one I deduced quick enough.”

“And all the many, _many_ times I sent various glamours into your bath.”

“You do know, once I am crowned, such mischief will be treason?”

“Good luck chopping my head off. I imagine you’ll have a hard time finding it.”

Thor smiled fondly. Loki crossed something out and tapped the pen briefly against his mouth, then seemed to be inspired and began writing. The elder Prince watched him for a time, content to observe his brother’s far too clever mind at work. “Are you anxious about the ceremony?” he finally asked.

“Not particularly. I’ll hardly be the center of attention.”

“Are you anxious about the upcoming Odinsleep?” Loki paused at that and glanced over at him, his expression the careful blank look he got when he was hiding his true feelings.

“Are you?”

“In truth…I fear all of it.” He rolled to his back. “The ceremony, the procedures of court, dropping Gungnir, missing a step and tumbling down the stairs.”

“And being King?” Loki’s voice was gentle now. Thor simply nodded. “You’ve trained your whole life for this. The people adore you, the nobles are behind you. There may be some minor missteps, but that’s only natural for a new ruler.”

“A major one could bring down the Nine Realms.”

“If you’re that concerned about your balance, I’m sure we can furnish you with a cane.” Thor threw a pillow at his brother, who deflected it with a quick flash of green. “It’s _good_ to be anxious. Anxiety means you want to do well and will consider your actions carefully.”

“Are _you_ anxious about it? My being King?”

Loki paused. Thor’s heart sank and he turned his head to see his brother gazing into the mid-distance in front of him. “Anxious isn’t the correct word,” the younger Prince said carefully. “Apprehensive, maybe. Not about your reign; I suppose, selfishly, I worry about how much will change for myself.”

“I’m still your brother,” Thor reminded him. “We will still work together, ride together, hunt together, fight together. You’ll simply have to address me more formally in public.”

Loki gave him another shuttered expression. “You know there will be more to it than that.”

“You’ll be the only Prince of Asgard. Your attention will be desired by all Nine Realms. You’ll be the closest to the throne and, as you’ve so pointed out, you’re dreadfully good at manipulating me. You’ll get to entertain all sorts of slippery politicians and decide which ones are worth actually enacting policy. You’ll be great at it. Better than I ever could.”

The younger Prince shrugged. “It’s my duty to support you. I plan to do so well.”

Thor didn’t like the sound of that. “Are you…angry? Do you feel passed over?”

“No, I don't, truly,” Loki’s face broke in to something far more genuine. “I’m jealous at times, yes, but not of the crown. More the way it’s so easy for you. To be charming, to be warm, to give great, loud speeches, to inspire the love of the people, to wield that beastly hammer. It seems I’ve always been more suited to the shadows.”

A deeply uneasy feeling began to rise in the elder Prince’s stomach. “I don’t want you in the shadows; I need you out in front, heading the Council, filtering through the Nobles, telling me not to be the most foolish ruler who ever lived. You’re my brother, my _only_ brother. You’ll do this with me, won’t you?”

The younger Prince’s expression softened. “Of course I will,” he soothed, than shifted himself halfway across the bed. Thor automatically put a hand on his brother’s knee and gripped it. “I suspected this is what’s been keeping you up.”

“I don’t know that I’m truly prepared.”

“I think most Monarchs feel that way. But you’ve had centuries of training. There are rulers on Midgard who assumed thrones when they were only children. Or they were installed by nobles as puppets. A current Queen lost her father long before she thought she would, and he himself was forced to assume the Crown when his own brother abdicated in order to marry a woman twice divorced.”

“They can _do_ that? Refuse the throne?”

“Technically he assumed it, _then_ refused it.” He gave a sharp look at Thor. “If _you_ ever do such a thing, I will transform you into a statue, install you on the dais, and grant you the ability to speak only to give orders. And I will remove your hair and beard and make Volstagg polish you thrice a day.”

“Your imagination frightens me, brother,” Thor chuckled. “I am fortunate to have it on my side.”

The younger Prince was quiet for a moment. “I’m not one for sentiment…generally. And not in groups, as you well know. My speech will be rather stiff and dutiful. But I shall read you this now, as long as you swear never to speak of it.”

“By Odin’s beard,” Thor promised.

“Very well.” Loki scratched at the paper, clearly anxious. “From the time we are children, we are told what and who we must love: we must love our parents, for they care and raise us. We must love our brothers and sisters, for they are our first friends and our closest companions. We must love our teachers, for they devote themselves to our instruction. And we must love our King, for it is his rule that allows us the freedom to live in peace.” Loki cleared his throat, clearly stalling for time. “One word of this too _anyone_ and I will cast unspeakable rashes upon your person.”

“It’s just you and me, brother,” Thor soothed. “If I’m to sit upon the throne, I’ll treasure your confidence a thousand fold more, and I already hold it dearer than all others.”

“Stop it. Now my attempt at sentiment will seem weak,” Loki grumbled. Thor smacked his brother’s knee.

“Go on.”

Loki stared at him, distrust evident, but Thor just smiled, willing kindness and acceptance into his gaze. The younger Prince looked back to his notes.

“All of you who sit here love our King and country, but I alone have been blessed by the Norns, for my first friend was my brother, and my brother has been my teacher, my companion, my protector, and now, my King. There are times that I am envious of his warmth and spiteful at his might—and so I beg you in advance, Thor, to pardon all my future mischief. No matter how I vex you, never doubt that I love you in more ways than anyone else ever could, and I count it as a blessing that no one ever needed to tell me to do so.”

Thor was absolutely going to drift off to a peaceful sleep at any moment.

He most certainly would _not_ spend another night rolling about, popping in and out of half-dreams, and then dumping himself on the foot of his brother’s bed sometime before dawn.

He was most certainly _not_ going to cry because his emotionally reserved younger brother had just read him the kindest and most encouraging words he could ever hope to hear.

“Thank you,” he managed around the lump in his throat. “I think I may very well be able to sleep now.”

Loki looked shyly down at him. “Perhaps we will both be able to sleep tonight.”

*

It’s just before dawn when Thor wakes, his brother asleep and facing him, journal and pen still in hand. The elder Prince carefully took them and set them on the nightstand, then drew the covers over his brother's shoulders.

Their lives were going to be drastically different in a week, and as Princes, they had always hadlittle control over their fates. But the Norns had granted them each other, and there has never been a challenge or a change they’d had to face alone. For all the doubts Thor still had about his own abilities, he has absolute faith in Loki’s: and Loki is here, a permanent blessing by his side.

He prays that when Valhalla calls, they go there together. If he could at least secure that certainty, then he’d be free to make his life’s mistakes without the agony of loss and doubt. More than anything, Thor fears loss and doubt.

The great warrior of Asgard, Crown Prince of the Nine Realms, God of Thunder and son of Odin, curled up close to his younger brother and matched their breaths like he had when they were children. One day they will be all that is left of their too small family, but Loki is the youngest of them—he will be there for every day of Thor’s life. Thor will allow nothing less.

And that thought, finally, lets him peacefully close his eyes.

 

 


End file.
